Spilt
by Halter
Summary: It's World War II, and Germany is taking over Europe. He doesn't seem like himself, not at all like the Ludwig that everyone knows. There's something sinister, genocidal in him now, and it doesn't seem like he's going to stop until the bloodthirst is sated. Torrents of blood will be spilt and flood the streets of Europe before he is satisfied. Rated M for content and WWII.
1. Prologue

Red.

Pure, blinding red covered his vision. Germany didn't know when the red had flooded his gaze, or when he exactly had given in to the rampage he was now on, but frankly he didn't care. Somewhere inside was the real Ludwig, screaming to get out, fighting against the haze that he was in, but he couldn't seem to win. No, right now, he was Germany, enemy of the free world. He held a dying mortal soldier in his grip, watching him cling to the last bit of life, ocean eyes slowly going out as he squeezed even harder.

Yes, the Ludwig that many people had come to know and love was absent from the scene at hand, dormant beneath layers and layers of hatred and cruelty. Even Italy couldn't stand being around the country right now. Everything in his path was razed by the muscular German, slowly conquering Europe.

As the last light of soul passed from those eyes, turning from vibrant blue to a dull grey, the red eyes turned forward, looking to his next victim. There, kneeling on the ground, clutching his arm as blood streamed down his face, was a familiar face. Eyes clouded with hate, Germany stalked towards the blonde haired man shaking on the ground. He sneered as the man in military uniform stared up at him, deep green eyes full of defeat.

"So," he spoke, deep voice resonating through the air of the smoking battlefield, "Here you are, defeated. Quite quickly, too, I must say. Anything you want to say before Ivan and I claim your lands?" The figure remained stubborn, however, glaring up at Germany with hate but resignation, and shook his head. A single tear flew from the corner of his eye to land in the blood soaked dust.

"Nothing at all, not to you, not now," the soft voice said, lilting femininely across the plateau. "Not after all you've done. There's nothing left to say." A chuckle escaped the taller, blonde man's lips.

"I should have expected as much. Never were one to put up a noble fight." He raised his gun, putting it to the slight figure's forehead. Long eyelashes met as his eyelids squinched shut, hiding the forest of his irises. A small voice shouted from deep within him, but he couldn't hear it, not anymore. Two final words left his throat as he squeezed the trigger.

"Farewell, Feliks."

 **Well guys, I'm back! I probably won't be finishing my other stories. From everything that's been going on the last... Holy crap it's been like a year since I last updated. In any case, so much has happened and I've changed a lot. I won't be writing a whole lot of fluffy or sexy stuff anymore, I'm trying to go for more of a serious style. This is Spilt, my WW2 fic about Germany. I hope you enjoy it as much as I'm going to, and please Review, Follow, and maybe even Favorite if you like it that much!**

 **I figured Germany invading Poland is a good intro/prologue for a World War II story, so there it is. I hope you like the story! I have no idea how long it is going to run, hopefully nice and lengthy.**


	2. Chapter 1

**_CHAPTER 1_**

"Germany, Germany!"

A small, smiling Italian face beamed as Feliciano, complete with blue uniform, flew across the field towards a shirtless German. He swung the axe he was holding downward, a crack resounding through the air as it slid cleanly through the small log sitting on the stump. The two halves fell sharply into the dirt as the blonde straightened, wiping the sweat from his forehead before turning, muscles tensing and readying themselves for the incoming impact of the small, yet surprisingly strong, body that was scampering across the field towards him. However, right before Feliciano reached the tall man, his foot hit the ground wrong. The scene seemed to happen in slow motion to Germany.

Feliciano's normally closed eyes flew open as he reached towards the blonde, sailing through the air like some sort of clumsy bird as a nauseating _crunch_ was heard. His ankle was bent at a sickening angle, a product of the strange way his foot had impacted the terrain. Tears formed at the corners of the Italian's pain-struck golden brown eyes. Ludwig lunged forward, arms reaching to catch the lithe figure as Feliciano cried out in pain, gliding seemingly effortlessly into the German's arms.

Germany landed hard on the ground, time catching up to him as he curled around North Italy's small frame, turning to land on his back as to spare the nation any further pain. He cradled Feliciano as his back hit the dirt, a spurt of air escaping his lips as the wind was knocked out of him. His teeth ground together as pain coursed through his body, bare skin tearing as he skidded across the rocky soil, protecting the man in his arms. When they came to a stop in a cloud of dust, the smaller of the two was crying loudly in the larger's arms, clutching his ankle with one hand and digging his nails into the pale man's chest with the other. They lay there, Italy sobbing as he clung to Ludwig tightly, who was shaking in pain with his arms remaining tight around the other.

"Are… You… Alright?" Germany asked through clenched teeth, gasping out the words as each syllable sent agony rocketing through his nervous system, concerned over the well-being of his small friend. Blood soaked into the earth beneath the two quivering figures, the skin ripped mercilessly from Ludwig's back by the unforgiving dirt.

"S-si," stammered out Feliciano, pain stabbing harshly through his ankle. "It hurts a lot though. What about you?" He added, noticing how far they had slid on his bare back. Ludwig just rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Feli. It's you I'm worried about, let me see your ankle." He slowly removed his arms and, carefully moving Italy so that he wouldn't get hurt more, grimaced as he sat up, blood mud sticking to his ruined back as he did so. He turned the small nation so that he was facing him, and gently took his foot into his hands. Blood moved viscously down his back, soaking into the waistband of his jeans as he inspected it. Italy whimpered and whined as he poked and prodded, seeing if there was anything to be worried about. Deciding it was just a hairline fracture, no chips on the bone or anything, he set the foot down and sighed.

"Feli," he said in a chiding tone, "You need to be more careful! You could have hurt yourself severely. Freund, you must not run so quickly, please be careful next time." He stretched and promptly winced as the drying blood on his back cracked, triggering yet another trail of fresh blood and another stab of pain. "Not to mention, you hurt me in the process. You need to take life more seriously. You may be a country, but you can still hurt yourself."

"I'm sorry Luddy," Feli said with a sniffle. "I was just excited to see you, you never come around anymore. Since your new boss took over, you've been staying at home more and more, and you never invite me over." Ludwig grimaced. His new boss was very strict, and did not believe in his friendships. Feli coming over was strictly forbidden under the Fuhrer's rule, and leaving was not often an option. The plans for the war to come were being formed, and with his boss' distrust of others, he was not going to take the risk of having Ludwig leak any of his secret plans. At this point, he was becoming a recluse with the exception of World Conferences. Of course, the other nations believed him a heartless misanthrope, so none of them noticed. The only one who would, was Feli.

Ludwig sighed. "I'm sorry, Feli, you know I must deal with my government first. I'll do my best to find time for you more often, I promise. I have a meeting to go to soon, though. I was simply blowing off steam by chopping wood for a while. What are you doing here?" He scowled as he shifted again, releasing more pain and more blood. He was going to have to take care of that soon.

"I wanted to see you, Luddy! Signor Mussolini told me I could come visit, since I only ever get in his way anyway!" He laughed and grabbed Germany's hand, ankle pain seemingly forgotten. "I thought we could spend some time together," he said happily, beaming with joy at the prospect of spending time with his friend. Germany, however, sighed and stood up with a groan of pain, shaking his head. Italy's face fell as he sat on the ground, legs sprawled out in the dust aimlessly, disappointment plain as day on his face as his arms dropped to his sides, dragging in the soil as he realized that he wouldn't get to spend the time he was hoping for.

"Go to Japan's," Ludwig said tightly. "I have a meeting to go to. And don't give me that face," he said as Italy began to pout up at him, "I have responsibilities. You do too. If you really have a day off," he said, staring down at the small, crestfallen Italian at his feet, "Then go bother Japan. I don't have time for fooling around, we have big plans. Maybe when you get a bit more answerable, you'll be let in on the game plan. But until you become responsible, you'll never have a true share in our alliance." With that, he left the dumbstruck nation in the dirt and walked away, mouth set in a thin line as he grimaced with each movement. Italy watched him go, misery on his features as he watched the blood encrusted back recede from his vision. He sighed, disenfranchised, and tried to stand up, crying softly as he put weight on his ankle. Deciding to do what Germany said and visit Japan instead, he dejectedly limped in the opposite direction.

Ludwig was confused by his own actions. Why did he just leave Italy in the dirt? Why had he said such harsh words to his friend? Never had he _ever_ spoken like that to him, not since he became his first friend. Italy was an innocent, excitable nation, and had done nothing wrong. So why had he so cruelly turned him down, when all he wanted was to spend some time together? He shook his head, writing it off as just stress from the plans, not to mention the pain he was in at the moment. He would apologize later. As he left the field where the Italian sat, he grabbed his shirt. It wouldn't do to have the Fuhrer seeing an injury like this, especially over something as trivial as a friend. Sliding it over his muscular torso, he tucked the black fabric into his jeans. He winced as the coarse cloth dragged across the new scabs on his back, a deep seated ache forming in the wounds.

Smoothing out his clothes as he approached his house, he steeled himself for the meeting that was about to take place. His boss had been in meetings all weekend, and it was time for Ludwig to be briefed on the current direction that the plans were going. Pausing at the door, he checked to make sure he was as neat and tidy as usual, dead set on being as presentable as possible for this meeting. He opened the door, stepping into the rustically decorated home. The _tik-tik-tik_ of a typewriter could be heard from down the hall, and he straightened his back, making sure to keep his chin high, and made his way to Adolph Hitler's office.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked twice firmly on the door. The rough voice from the other side came quickly and assuredly. "Come," he said, and the nation opened the door, saluting as he entered.

"Heil," he said, closing the door behind him firmly.

"Ludwig," the black haired man greeted him familiarly, "I've told you, there's no need to be so formal with me. Come, have a seat." Adolph gestured to the coffee colored Bergere seated in front of the wide pedestal desk. As he took a seat, the Fuhrer shifted his typewriter and spread out an assortment of papers and files across the mahogany surface. Each treatise detailed a different part of the planned movement across Europe, primarily on each specific strategy they were planning to use on which countries. "You've read most of these, but there are a few changes, such as the importance of taking Poland quickly and effectively. Of course, this will most likely prompt England to declare war, but I don't foresee many issues with them, we can easily handle their armies." He pulled a map of the world out from the top drawer of his desk, and spread it out over the papers, using a few objects to hold the corners of the rolled paper down. "The main issue right now," he said, indicating Poland with a flick of his wrist, "Is that from our one front, it will take far too long to take the entire country.

"Reinforcements will arrive from England, and that will make this more difficult than it needs to be. We must be precise and fast with this move. This will be a complex game of chess, and just like any chess match, we must be assertive and move quickly, or else we compromise our entire scheme. In order to do so, we need an ally from the East." He stood up, leaning over the map, and slammed his hand on the outline of the Soviet Union. "We need Ivan and Stalin on our side if we wish to do this. And that," Adolph said with a smirk, "Is where you come in. We need them to cover the Eastern front if we are going to succeed." Ludwig nodded, thinking over the proposition.

"Ivan is as restless as we. It shouldn't be too much of an issue to convince him to join us, as Arthur has been keeping an eye on him, and he will welcome an avenue to regain his freedom, as well as expand his borders. However," he said hesitantly, and the human raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not sure if Feliciano will like this move very much. He doesn't like violence, and I'm worried that this will make him nervous." He bit his lip, knowing he said the wrong thing, as Adolph shook his head.

"North Italy doesn't matter right now. He's simply a weakling," As Germany began to protest, he held up a finger. "Don't argue with me, we both know it. He's weak, and if he doesn't want to go to war, then he can hide in his home and cry like you know that he will. For any of our plans to work, we must take Poland. Also, I do not know why you're always focused on that _child_ so much. Your priority needs to be your country, and me. Everything comes second to your country." He smirked at Ludwig. "Or are you going to let a simple _partnership_ let you lose sight of what's really important?" The nation's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly.

"No, I haven't. I'm just…" He sat up even straighter, and was unable to hide the flinch from the rush of pain that came from his scabbed-up back.

"It doesn't matter!" an exasperated Hitler interrupted. "Italy doesn't matter right now. Nothing except your country matters right now." It was then that he noticed the flinch from the country. "Ludwig…" he said, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone. "What's wrong?"

Ludwig couldn't help but smile a little. The Fuhrer did actually care for his well-being, showing genuine concern over even just a small flinch. He sighed softly and stood up carefully, then pulled his shirt over his head, and turned around. He heard a shocked gasp from behind him and a creak from a chair being pushed back as Adolph walked around the desk to get a closer look at Germany's back.

"Italy came to meet me today, unexpectedly," Ludwig said quietly. "He hurt his ankle, and while he was falling, I caught him, instinctually using my body as a shield for him." Behind him, the Fuhrer shook his head and opened his mouth to say something, but Ludwig cut him off. "I know, I know, it was a bad idea, but I couldn't help but want to shield him."

"It was a horrible idea, Ludwig!" Adolph exclaimed. "You endangered not only yourself, but your nation, all of our plans, and everything we're working for!" Ludwig, chastised, hung his head. "You need to take better care of yourself, and definitely need to _stop_ spending time with _Italy._ You can't be thinking about other countries right now. You need to be thinking about making Germany great again; thinking about your people, your nation," he paused for a moment, "Thinking about me. Besides, would a _friend_ really let you hurt yourself like that for them? He probably didn't even show much concern over you being hurt." Ludwig grimaced: the Fuhrer was right, he needed to focus more on his nation than someone who didn't even seem to care. He knit his brow in confusion. He knew all of this, so why was this hitting him so hard?

Adolph turned him around, putting his hand on Germany's shoulder. "I'm sure he would have been fine anyway," he said in a gentler tone of voice. "he's always hurting himself and screwing up. But look at you now! You're a mess, and now we have to patch you up." Ludwig smiled at his commander-in-chief, admiration in his eyes for this person who was so selfless, so devoted to his country. "C'mon," Adolph said with a half smile, "Let's go to the doctor. No," he said sternly as the nation attempted to protest. "No, you listen to me. Clearly, you aren't thinking straight, and haven't been all day, if you really thought you needed to insert yourself like that."

"But-"

"I'm not having such a pointless arguement. You know I'm right, and I'm not going to keep repeating myself. Do you want to get fixed up or not?" Ludwig was about to protest, but then sighed, nodding. He knew Adolph was right, and so he conceded, letting the human help him put his shirt back on.

"That's what I thought," the Fuhrer said, relaxed again. "Come along now, Ludwig, let's clean you up."

 **Alright, and chapter 1 is done! I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are most warmly welcomed, either flames or fangirls. I'm going for a more psychological abuse angle, rather than my normal torture porn way of showing abuse. I would love to hear feedback on how I did, and I look forward to advancing this story more. Spilt is already super fun for me, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Stick around, we'll be covering World War II in its full glory.**

 **See ya later, ya beautiful bastards!**


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